


Carrying On

by teastainsonmysoul



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, simon snow - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Simon is a himbo, Slow Burn, also agatha is a tall jock, and they actually talk it out sometimes, buckle up boys we're in it to win it, it's not gay if its canon, its an elaborate shitpost tbh, possible redemption arcs???, so much fucking angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teastainsonmysoul/pseuds/teastainsonmysoul
Summary: What if Baz wasn't a total asshole and was actually Simon's friend? Well here you go, have some food.Basically I'm rewriting Carry On but it's friends to lovers instead of enemies to lovers with a few plot points changed or omitted for the sake of the au.Also HEAVY condensing because Carry On is a very long book. Miss with those 118k words.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Kudos: 6





	1. Nice and Pretty; Not Like Everybody

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: The beginning is more or less the same as the opening of Carry On, with Simon going through his list of things right up to killing the goblin cabbie (rest in pussy king) so we begin our tale when he gets to his room.
> 
> Also Simon shaves his head at the beginning of the terms instead of at the end (I just wanted bald Simon tbh)

**Simon**

I flop into bed, letting the sagging mattress cradle me while I breathe in the scent. Clean linen, hints of the damp stone of the tower, and goose down. I want to brand myself with this smell, to become one with Watford again, like I have after every summer. The easiest way to do just that is a shower, and given the goblin cabbie all over my jeans, I’m more than happy to.

Flicking on the lights, I shuffle around the counter, moving aside towels and bottles of generic soap. Baz’s stuff isn’t here, but I pretend not to notice (he usually puts it in the cabinet anyway). The bathroom is only big enough for the walk-in, a short sink, and the loo. Penny called it “cozy” once when she visited; Baz says it’s pitiful. I think he’s right-it’s small-and that worked up until we started growing like weeds. Now we have to make a schedule just to take turns pissing (God forbid we both need to go).

I turn on the water since I know it’ll take a while to heat up. Just enough time to take a long look in the mirror. One of the few things I  _ did _ let myself think about over the summer is how I would look when I returned. The mirrors at the homes were either cracked or too small to get a good look. Here at Watford, our bathroom mirror is big enough to catch a glimpse of my waist if I stand at arm’s length. I lean over the sink, turning my head to see how I’ve changed. Usually, looking in the mirror makes me uneasy (I used to hate looking like the Humdrum), but it’s been getting easier to look now that I’m older.

With a clean head, it’s easy to see how slim my face is; how my jaw has cut through baby fat and how gaunt I am. My eyes are tired and my cheeks are hollow, no doubt from the food at the homes. A ghast look can be stylish--attractive even--on most  _ other _ people, but on me, I look like I’ve been raised from a tomb. I tear myself away as condensation creeps along the edges of the mirror, the bathroom now much hotter. 

I grab a towel and some soap before stepping in. I take one last look at my clothes and decide not to think about them.

* * *

When I finally get out, the sun is high and its rays break past the window. I set my dirty laundry and wet towels aside before opening it. A humid breeze blows through my bones. I take a deep breath. Grass, musk, woods, and a hint of merwolf. I want to suck more down, to clean my lungs of the city and the dirt and the exhaustion, but I get choked up and have to exhale. I peek over the sill into the moat. Murky water slaps the edges of the tower, and I can see the hazy outline of a merwolf tail. If Baz were here, we’d have a spitting contest to see who can hit one. 

Baz.

I seat myself on the sill, staring into my room.  _ Our _ room. The beds are close enough that I can put a foot on both mattresses with ease, and there’s hardly enough room from the end of the beds to the two wardrobes. It’s any wonder  _ one _ of us fits in here, let alone the both. I lean over, grabbing Baz’s pillow and pressing it into my nose. It smells clean, sanitary,  _ normal _ . I toss it aside, letting out a grunt. As strange as it is, I miss the scent of him; it has comforted me on the worst nights and reminded me that there was a reality outside of the homes. That there was someone outside of the homes that knew I existed.

I hop off the sill and let my feet soak in the cool stone of the floor. Two steps and I’m nearly to my wardrobe. There’s a set of uniforms for each day of the week, neatly pressed and crisp. On the shelf is a pair of oxfords, shiny and brand-new. I throw on a purple jumper and some grey trousers. I feel a little more like myself with every piece of clothing I put on. When I’m dressed, I take a look at myself in the mirror on the back of our door. I like the look of the uniform, even if it is a bit preppy for my tastes. It makes me blend in with people like Baz, and no one can tell I don’t have a real family. I grab my wand from my duffle bag and hurry down the tower. I’m tempted to cast  **Float Like a Butterfly** , but I don’t trust my magic yet. Having lived with normals all summer meant I had to use it secretly.

I’d wondered what it would be like, to use magic every day without the fear of discovery. Penny and Agatha told me they use it to do chores around their houses. Baz admitted his little sister can’t tie her own shoes (to be fair, I’ve never seen  _ Baz  _ tie his own shoes either). Hell, Ebb told me she couldn’t remember the last time she put a kettle on. The Mage told me when I was a first year  _ ‘Mages are meant to use magic, that’s why we have it,’ _ , going as far as to teach me how to open a book without my hands. I try not to think about what happened my first year, so I shake the thought away.

It’s Wednesday, and I’m most certainly one of the first people to arrive. The Mage likes me to come early, in case something goes awry (and something usually does). The school is so empty, it’s like an abandoned movie set; the buildings looming over me, waiting for students. Nothing but the breeze and the distant sound of goats. I’ve passed a few people (mostly foreign exchange students and their guides), but I’ve yet to see a familiar face.

There’s a chance the Mage is around, either in his office or checking on the preparations. Being the headmaster binds him to the school and everything that needs to be done. I once asked to help him, hoping it might bring us closer but I ended up stapling worksheets for two hours. I stare up at the Weeping Tower, shielding my eyes to the sun. If I squint hard, I can just  _ barely  _ see the window to his office; it’s no bigger than my thumbnail at this distance. I’ve been in there a couple times, most of which have been after I’d faced whatever the Humdrum had attacked me with (and once after Baz pushed me down the stairs). Any other time I’d spoken with him, it had been out in the open, or an empty classroom.

I head towards the dining hall. If there are students, the kitchen’s definitely making something. The whole way to Watford, I let my mind wander around the food that I’d get. They make it all by hand here, but it tastes like there’s magic in every bite (maybe there is). The bus ride on top of the hike from that taxi has left me completely empty.

The dining hall is about as empty as I feel, with only a few people spread out over the tables. It’s a lot of exchange students and older students, but in the sea of strangers, I catch sight of pale grain and honey. Agatha is seated in the corner, nose dug into a book. I call out and wave to her, watching as her expression turns from confusion to warmth in a second.

“Hello, Simon,” she says when I sit across from her. She’s in a  _ Watford Lacrosse _ jumper and a pair of white trousers. Her hair is half pulled up with a floral scrunchie. “Summer’s felt so long without you.”

“Aye, it feels good to be back.” I eye her tray; scones, a pot of tea and all the fixings. She notices and hands me a cup.

“You’re a bit thinner than usual, were they feeding you?” She quickly casts  **Some Like it Hot** to warm up the pot before pouring me some tea.

“Barely,” I say, already reaching for a scone. I take a big bite and let the world melt away. It tastes like Watford, and afternoon tea time, and studying, and home.

Agatha laughs behind her hand. It’s soft and polite, just like her. Or at least who she  _ used _ to be. When I met Agatha, she was the exact kind of prep that you’d expect to find at a private school; all blonde hair and eyes cast down. Honestly, I wouldn’t say she was my type but we started dating a month into our first year. I thought we’d get married and have a big magical family. Agatha seemed to think so too, right up until she told me she was asexual.

_ ‘What does that mean?’ _ I asked her that night on the lawn. 

_ ‘It means I don’t feel attraction to anyone. Physically at least.’ _

I remember feeling hurt at first, then confused. I really liked Agatha, but the longer we were apart, the more I was okay with being her friend(even if I still kind of don’t understand how asexuality works). She and I are on good terms now, and I don’t think things are awkward between us.

“I’m honestly surprised you’re here this early,” I say. She folds the corner of her page and relaxes into her seat.

“You can thank my mother for that. She was worried I’d get a new roommate if I showed up later,” her tone hinted at annoyance, or at the very least disdain.

“You wouldn’t get a new roommate, would you?” I try to talk around another scone, but I’m just making a mess of crumbs.

“Explain that to her for me,” she sighs and sinks down in her seat a bit. “Anywho, how was your summer?”

I try not to frown, but judging by the giggle Agatha covers, I’m not fooling anyone. “Alright, same as usual.”

She tilts her head to the side, and gives me a contemplative look. “No attacks, no almost getting hit by a bus?”

“Aside from the cabbie that brought me, no,” I let out a breath, not quite a sigh, but just as exhausted. “I didn’t even talk to the Mage until a week ago when he brought the money for my bus ticket.”

“That’s a bit cold,” she says frankly, pale eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Not even a phone call?”

“He doesn’t use a phone,” I say jokingly, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Mage near a phone. I really can’t imagine the mage in this century; he dresses like he’s auditioning for the role of Robin Hood and speaks so grandly you’d think he was announcing the Queen’s arrival.   
“I don’t even know what we’d talk about.”

**Agatha**

I want to scream at you, Simon. You let him get away with  _ everything.  _ He doesn’t allow you to go with him on his “super secret” missions. You’re growing out of your clothes, and there’s nothing to replace them with. You don’t even notice the nine kilos you lose between May and August.

I take a hard look at Simon while he’s smearing his third scone with half a stick of butter. He’s painfully thin and I can see how sharp his face has gotten without his curls to hide any of it. On any other guy it’d make them look like a hooligan; it suits Simon surprisingly well (malnutrition aside), but it could just be that I know Simon isn’t like that. Despite his rough appearance, he’s never been anything but nice to me (however trivial it is). He’s the perfect knight in shining armour in almost every way (albeit a bit overzealous). From his swordsmanship to his explosive magic, I don’t think I’ve  _ ever  _ seen Simon approach his problems rationally. It’s always sword drawn, brain off.

“Well, maybe now that you’re graduating you can ask him what you’re going to do.”

He stops chewing and stares down at his tea. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows slow and hard. Perhaps I’ve touched a sensitive button.

“Uh, yeah, maybe,” he says it so quietly, I swear he didn’t mean for me to hear it. “Say, have you seen anyone else?”

I take the hint and step over the point entirely. Maybe another time then.

“Like Penny? No.”

“Oh. I haven’t seen Baz either.” His face twists a bit as he says Baz’s name. 

First year they were at each other’s throats and hexing each other to high heaven. Penny and I joked that neither of them would make it to third year. It seemed that way, right up until Baz pushed Simon down the stairs (despite what he claims, I think he fully intended to kill Simon right then and there). But then they just...stopped. One day it was broken noses and shouting curses at each other down the hall, then nothing. I think the Mage said something to them (or charmed them into tolerating each other). Simon seemed to have the hardest time adjusting. There were still dirty looks here and there, but he largely kept his hands to himself. With Baz, it was like he was put out with a pail of ice water. Almost overnight he was bumping elbows with Penny and me at the breakfast table. After a while, we just stopped questioning it.

His friends from the Old Families certainly didn’t like his little truce with us, but they kept to themselves anyway.

“That’s strange. He’s usually here before you.” I pour myself another cup of tea. “Do you think his family is plotting?” I say it half-teasing, but it could be true. Simon was convinced Baz was plotting against him, so much so, he followed Baz like a lost puppy (and consequently got pushed down the stairs for it).

Simon laughs, deep and hearty. “This late? I’d like to see it.” He smiles wide and a dimple pushes into his freckled cheek. I used to dream about kissing him there, but now it's just another piece to a bizarre puzzle. “Nah, I think he’s just late. The tosser is all prim and proper; wouldn’t be surprised if he was getting his clothes tailored.”

We finish our tea and head out of the dining hall together. He suggests a lap around the school, but I really just want to lay on the pitch for a while. It's one of the last summer days we have and I'd like to soak up every drop of it.

"There's someone I have to see though!" Simon practically squawks, his face puffing into a pout.

"Your girlfriend Ebb and her goats?" I say teasingly. He flushes from ears to neck and shoves my shoulder.

"I  _ do _ want to see Ebb, but she's  _ not _ my girlfriend!" He gives me a bigger pout before stomping off towards the hills. 

**Simon**

I really tried not to act like a child, but Ebb is  _ not _ my girlfriend (bloody rich coming from my ex). I find myself near Ebb's cottage just outside Watford. It's tucked right into the hills and far enough that you can almost see the entire school. A few stray goat's greet me as I come up the highest hill. Ebb is seated on a blanket, her old Watford jumper tied around her waist and flaring out like a skirt (I could never imagine Ebb in a girly uniform). (I don't think I want to.)

"Well if it isn't our Chosen One!" Ebb calls, her voice tinged with a cold, or maybe just tobacco. She has a billy in her lap and a pipe in her hand. 

I plop down next to her and a goat starts to pull at my sleeve.

"Oi  _ you _ !  _ Joshua _ , don't be rude!" She bats at him until he scurries away. “How are ya’, Simon?” Ebb’s smile is warm and inviting, like a hot cup of tea in autumn, or a fresh tin of Christmas biscuits. “Was your summer good?”

“It happened, I guess,” I shrug and pull Joshua into my lap. “It’s the quietest summer I’ve had since first year.”

She takes a puff from her pipe, eyes wide and curious. “The Mage didn’t have you running his errands?”

“No, actually,” I hesitate, Joshua licking the sleeve of my jumper, “I didn’t hear from him at all.”

“Well, ain’t that somethin’,” Ebb stares off into the horizon, her eyes flicking between trees. “Maybe he  _ finally _ wanted to give ya’ a break, aye?” her tone is playful, much softer than the grim frown she had.

“I mean, I guess,” I can’t keep the concern off my tongue (or my face). “Would’ve been nice to get a bird, though.”

“Don’t fret, kiddo,” she says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, “you know him better than any of us. He’s just, oh, what do you say? ‘Like  _ that _ ’.” She takes another drag, blowing the smoke onto a passing breeze. “I’m sure he’s itchin’ to see ya’!”

I let myself lean into her. She smells like tobacco and lukewarm coffee, but there’s a strong dose of compassion hiding the goat smell. I missed her more than I did the scones.

“Yeah, I bet he is,” a smile slurs my words into a chuckle. For a moment, we sit in silence, just smiling at each other. It’s not awkward or intentional; for as long as I can remember, Ebb has been at Watford, just caring for the grounds and her goats. I was scared of her first year (because Baz told me her goats eat people), but after she saved me from a cockatrice, I found myself drawn back to her little cottage. She’s closer to me than I think even Penny or Baz, and I’m not entirely sure why (it could be our shared love of tea time pastries).

The afternoon drifts into twilight when I leave Ebb, and I head towards Mummer’s house. Surely, Baz has returned by now (he was never a morning person anyway). (At least, that’s my justification for his absence.) A few of the older kids are dropping their stuff off when I pass through. I spot Dev hefting a big plastic tote in front of his door. I call for him but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look up until I’m standing directly in front of him.

“Hey,” I say.

Dev’s face crumples into a frown as he takes out his earbuds. Oh.

“I’m innocent,” he says quickly, and I can tell he means it.

I roll my eyes and put my hands up. “I’m not here to fight, I just have a question.”

“No,” his eyes narrow and he reaches for his dangling earbud. I catch his hand before he can put it back.

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna ask!”

“Whatever it is,” he says flatly, “I’ve got nothing to do with it.” He snatches his hand away, huffing through his nose. (I’ve fought gremlins tougher than Dev, so it’s just irritating to watch.)

“Just listen, okay?” I reach for his hand, but he stiffens and I decide to drop it. “Have you seen Baz?”

“Baz?” His eyes dart away for the first time in our conversation. He bites the inside of his cheek before returning to me, eyebrows going straight. “Nah, I haven’t seen ‘im at all.”

“Have you heard from him?” I must sound desperate because he snorts.

“As if I’d tell  _ you _ that." Dev gives me an annoyed look. "Aren’t you two supposed to be rivals?”

I open my mouth to snap something back, but what reason do I really have? By all accounts, he's right; Baz and I are the destined rivals of Watford. He's going to plot against me and I'm going to slay him like the villain he is. The evil will be defeated and I'll ride off into the sunset with my dream girl as the Chosen One.

At least, that's what was  _ supposed _ to happen. Then Agatha and I broke up. And Baz started being nice to me. And I realized there are pages after the happily ever after.

I sigh and excuse myself (if waving Dev off is excusing myself). The staircase up to the tower seems especially tired tonight, and our room is still empty when I walk in. I try to convince myself it's from the socialization of today, but my heart sinks when I see that Baz’s side of the room is still untouched (save for the sloppy replaced pillow). 

Somehow he'd become one of my best (and only) friends at Watford. The bloody tosser went from mortal enemy to my right hand man in what seemed like minutes. Penny and everyone seem to think it’s all an elaborate plan to start a civil war between the Old Families and the Coven, but I can’t imagine they’d put all of their trust into such a volatile person like Baz (though, to be fair,  _ I’m _ the Chosen One). 

He seemed downright evil first year, and most of second year too, I really thought he was going to kill me every night. Third year though, it was like a clone took his place. I thought this might be his big plan, where he’d lure me into a false sense of security and then end me while we were having tea. Day after day, he’d grown less hostile, at points I wasn’t even sure if he had ill intentions. He was in it for the long haul, I thought. My days became weeks, and then months, and then years, and now we eat dinner together every night.

I stare at Baz’s bed, hoping I’d missed a lost wrinkle or section of unmade bed. Something,  _ anything _ to reassure me he was here. Just the way I’d left it at tea time. I groan and throw myself face-first onto my own bed. My body sinks into the mattress, cradled in disappointment and a little anxiety. Dev’s reaction didn’t exactly scream confidence, even if he doesn’t like me. There was a twinge of worry mixed into the brick wall of secrecy. Something about the cracks in his facade made my heart drop.

The clean sheets. The freshly fluffy pillow. A warm jumper and cool breeze. I let my eyes wander around our room again, finally falling on Baz’s empty bed. I imagine him curled up in the corner, book in one hand, and a teacup in the other. His eyes catching mine and flashing me the tiniest smile before returning to his book. 

_ ‘You’re staring, Snow.’ _

_ ‘I know.’ _ I’d say.

I must have been pretty tired, because when I open my eyes, it’s pitch black and freezing. The curtains billow over the nightstand, inches from my face. I sit up and rub some sleep out of my eyes. In the moonlight, I can see a figure standing near the door. Tall, slender, and pitch-black hair pulled into a bun.

“Baz!” I nearly shout, my chest swelling with excitement.

The figure glances over their shoulder at me and that’s when I notice how feminine it is. Their nose isn’t the least bit crooked.

Before I can think much more, it blows away with the wind.


	2. All the Small Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get some fluffy moments before the angst train arrives at the next platform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this late as fuck but I have a good reason for that: I didn't proofread it for weeks because reasons.  
> Hopefully the ungodly length will make up for it.

**Penny**

The sun is barely up when I help Mum load up the car. She insists that I bring every little knick knack on my desk, but I have better things to take than all of this crap. I almost cast  **put my foot down** just to get her to stop.

“But Penelope, what if you  _ need _ something?” she looks at me with pleading eyes, hands clutched around a third crystal ball.

I swipe it from her and put it on our lawn. “If I  _ really, truly _ need something, Mum, I can just phone you. It’s not like you live in France.” I do love her, but she’s incorrigible sometimes.

She looks like she might say something else but just takes her place in the driver’s seat.

Mum was silent until we were out of the city limits before asking about Simon. I was surprised she even wanted to discuss him, given her aversion to anything Mage-related (or Simon-related for that matter).

“I just don’t think we should associate with him, Penelope,” she said as her eyes darted between me and the road. “Just look at the messes he’s made!”

“And look at all he’s done for magic’s sake! Mum, he saved me from a whole dragon.”

“He’s the one that brought a dragon in the first place,” she mumbled, disgusted. “I just don’t know, Penelope. He’s friends with a Pitch. A  _ Pitch _ .” 

“And so am I, Mum. Basil isn’t like Malcom or Natasha, he’s…” I try to think of something nice, but Basil is just as cold as his father and twice as explosive as his mum. “Well he’s an excellent mage. Shouldn’t we try to have someone like him on  _ our _ side?”

“How can he be on ‘ _ our’ _ side if he was born into ‘ _ theirs’ _ ?” She stares out at the road, eyebrows knit so tight I’m afraid they’ll stick.

She’s got a point. A point that would be completely valid if I didn’t know Basil. For as long as we’ve been on good terms, he’s been everything the Coven says he is; strong, powerful, intelligent and vicious. But he’s also kind and tender when push comes to shove. He helped Simon fight off chimeras and dragons, looked for lost hares and healed my wounds when I fell on the lawn. Basil might be a Pitch, but he’s my friend first.

We drop the conversation entirely until the spires of Watford’s buildings come into view along the horizon.

The land around Watford is beautiful this time of year; riding summer’s coattails as autumn finally exhales. It’s wonderful, free, spectacular,  _ magical _ . I want to stick my head out the window like a dog, just to take the biggest breath I can. It’s my last first day and I want to make it last a lifetime.

We pull around to the cloisters and mum grabs as many things as she can. I can tell she doesn’t want to be on the grounds too long. I take my duffle and a box of books before heading after her.

Mum is basically silent the whole time we bring things up (bloody third floor room), save for a few mumbled curses about forgetting her wand. As much as I want to get everything out, I want to take a look around. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Simon and Baz are already stalking about, probably causing trouble or slaying something, and I’d like to be up to speed on any summertime hijinks they got into (because they always do).

I give my mum a big hug when we’re done bringing everything up. She holds me tightly after I’ve dropped my arms, like she’s trying to tell me not to stay.

“Remember, if you  _ ever _ , and I mean  _ ever _ need  _ anything _ ,” her voice quivers a bit when she pulls back, “Don’t hesitate to phone me.” Her eyes are damp and I can see how time has aged her. There are fine lines near her eyes and around her mouth. Her brow and forehead are eternally furrowed despite being relaxed.

I look at the ground and try to smile. “I will, mum.”

Without much more, she leaves me, alone in my room with nothing but boxes and bags to keep me company.

I don’t bother changing into my uniform before heading out since I’m already in the school’s colours. The walkways are pretty empty, but I do see a few familiar faces on my way to Mummer’s house. It’s already Thursday, which means Simon is most likely in his room (or roundabout there). I know he and Basil like to practice their spells together (Simon’s a bit rusty after summer, I don’t blame him).

I have to sneak into Mummer’s, so I throw on a quick  **Nothing to See Here** and make my way up the tower’s spiraling staircase.

As expected, their door is unlocked and creaks a bit when I poke my head in.

“Has His Majesty arrived?” I half-sing. When I step in, the cool morning air hits my face while a heavy duffle slams against my ankle. I lose my balance and flop onto Basil’s bed. Fear crawls over my skin until I notice he isn’t here. Neither is Simon when I take a good look around. There’s a heap of blankets and a mess on his desk, but the boy in question is nowhere to be found.

I put my ear to the bathroom door just as the water shuts off. I check my mobile. Nine-thirty. A bit late for Simon to be getting up (he likes the very first scones out of the oven). The bathroom door opens and a stream of heat hits my back.

Simon steps out with a towel around his neck and is in nothing more than grey trousers. I break out my best  _ ‘welcome back’ _ smile before rising to hug him. He puts an arm around my shoulders, but it feels cautious against my eager squeeze.

“It’s so good to see you again,” I say into his bare chest. I can feel the magic in his skin and the warmth of a fresh shower. 

“Yeah,” he’s quiet, with a twinge of confidence, “Good to see you too.” He keeps a hand on my shoulder despite pulling away.

He’s thin. And pale as a sheet.

**Simon**

Has Penny always been this small? Maybe I’ve just never noticed. In her knee highs and pleated skirt, she looks just like the kid I met in first year. I swear Penny is the only constant in my world (aside from the whole Chosen One thing). She’s a friendly face in the hurricane of my life. I’m tempted to give her another squeeze, but I have to settle with a hand on her shoulder.

Her face scrunches up a bit, like she’s smelled something foul. Maybe it’s the growing pile of dirty laundry under my bed.

“What?” I finally squak. 

“You look a bit shaken, dear,” her voice sounds like her mum’s; warm spice and worry. “Did you sleep well?”

I can’t bring myself to lie to her, so I just dance around the truth. “Oh, uh, not exactly. I got to bed kinda late.”

Her eyes narrow and it feels like she’s staring directly into my soul. “ _ How _ late?”

“Three...four-ish,” I say, and a blush is spreading across my cheeks.

Penny sighs, something pained and disappointed. “Can I ask  _ why _ ? Did you get spooked or something?”

My face must give it away because her eyes get wide and she practically tackles me.

“Simon, what attacked you? Was it something dark? The Humdrum?”

I wish she was more concerned instead of giddy; you’d think I gave her a winning lottery ticket with how much she bounces on my arm.

“No, not quite. It was...well,” I search her face then the room. What  _ was _ that thing? “I’m not actually sure.”

“What did it look like? Do you think it was dark?” She pushes up her glasses and I can see the glint in her eye. Adventure, peril, mysteries.

“It looked like, well, like Baz, but if he was a girl. And _ older _ , I guess?”

Penny’s smile drops immediately in favour of a frown. “You sure it wasn’t just Basil? He  _ does  _ kind of look like a girl from behind.”

I scoff. Baz might have longer hair, but nothing about his absolutely built frame and two metres of height scream ‘ _ feminine _ ’ to me.

“Do you see him around?” I gesture to the near empty room around us. “Can you  _ smell _ him anywhere around?”

“Maybe he’s pulling a prank on you,” she sounds unconvinced.

“To accomplish  _ what _ exactly?” I must sound angrier than I feel because Penny steps back, like she’s gotten too warm. I can feel magic at my fingertips, white-hot and frustrated. I take a few deep breaths, letting the cool morning air fill my lungs to the brim. No use getting worked up this early. “I just think if Baz  _ was _ pulling some shit, why do it in the dead of night while I’m asleep?”

Penny has seated herself on Baz’s bed and has to look up at me.

“He’s done stranger, if we’re being honest.”

I hate to admit it but she’s got a point. When we still hated each other, Baz would pull out every stop to annoy me. The only reason I know of most magical creatures is because Baz would send them after me (I used to think it was the Humdrum until I caught Baz paying off a bridge-troll). The Mage had enough of our fighting and tried to cast a friendship spell; it worked for all of five minutes and then we were right back at each other.

“In any case,” Penny says, “I’m beyond famished. Let’s get us some breakfast.” Her round cheeks pull her lips up into a cheerful smile. I missed this the most.

I toss on a button down and throw a tie around my neck (presentation be damned until I can get my fill of carbs). Penny is already making her way down the Tower’s steps and I just catch a glance of her hair as she rounds the bend. Seeing her reignited the excitement killed by last night’s events and my heart feels like a helium balloon.

I draw my wand from my back pocket and take a deep breath. My magic prickles and sparks along my skin like hot needles. _‘Don’t let it consume you. Hold onto it, Snow. Slowly, then release it into your words.’_ _’_ Baz’s encouragement echoes through my mind and I try to pinpoint where I want it all to go. Hot water rushes in my veins and across my body until it’s all in my right hand. My wand feels like a lightning rod but I can’t let go, instead, I let my magic soak into the air.

“ **Float Like a Butterfly!** ” I feel my voice boom in my chest and in an instant I feel like an astronaut. My toes barely touch the steps of the tower as I bound towards the bottom. I pass Penny and she stares up at me when I leap over her head. The clack of her Mary Jane’s signal to me that she’s chasing after. I don’t bother to hold the door open because I can hear her delighted shrieks just behind my shoulder.

I bounce through Mummer’s, careful to keep from bumping my head on the ceiling (that’s a mistake I only needed to make  _ once _ ). There’s still a little magic left in me but I can’t find an immediate outlet for it. I decide to call for my sword, if only to keep myself from going off. I called for it to fight off the cabbie but I haven’t had a proper reunion since then.

Its hilt drops into my hand and the weight is enough to keep me anchored to the path when I fly through the dorm doors. The spell must be wearing off by the time Penny catches up because my body sinks back to the ground.

“Simon!” She yells. “That was brilliant!”

“Was it?” I’m out of breath and my words are slashed by the pesky need for oxygen.

“Absolutely!  _ Tell me  _ that wasn’t your first spell back!” Her cheeks are flushed a deep red and some loose hairs are sticking to her forehead.

“Yeah, actually, it was.” I hardly think my sword counts as a spell; no one really brags about their reflexes.

“ _ Liar _ ! You’ve been practicing over the summer, haven’t you!” She punches my arm as her breathing returns to normal. I roll my eyes and put my hands up.

“Honest! It really was the first one,” I can’t help but chuckle, it’s kind of ridiculous. Even with Baz’s help, it usually takes me a week or so to get back into the groove of things. Just now though, I felt like I could cast a whole sonnet.

Penny and I make our way over to the dining hall, which has gained a few more people since yesterday. I pile a plate high with everything I missed: scones, eggs, bacon,  _ butter _ . Penny has made a more modest breakfast, but she has a very nice mum to feed her seconds at home.

In the homes, I always worried about the younger kids getting enough to eat, but here at Watford, I can be the glutton my growing body says I am. Every meal has seconds, thirds (fourths if I’ve had a particularly rubbish day), and I refuse to let even a bite go to waste. My friends tease me about it but I don’t care; Cook Pritchard is a miracle worker sent straight from heaven.

Penny has found a table near the window and I carry my two (two!) plates over. She’s already casting a spell on the tea pot when Agatha sits down next to her.

“Mornin’!” I say gleefully. 

“Good morning, you two,” she replies politely. “How did we sleep?”

“Well enough,” Penny sighs. “Simon didn’t though; he saw something.”

I’m midway through a fried egg when they shoot me a look. In the least graceful way, I force the food down.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Agatha,” my words feel sloppy, coated in yolk. “It was probably just a dream anyway.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Did you receive a Visit?”

It never occured to me that it might’ve been a ghost. I mean, the veil always lifts around this time, so it’s not impossible that a ghost  _ did _ come last night.

But ghosts only come to people who have families, people who would know they’re gone and dead. I shake my head incredulously. “Who would visit  _ me _ ?” Do I even have someone to visit me?

“That is true,” Penny sounds interested, albeit a bit melancholy. “Your relatives might not be dead.” The words hit me in the chest like a flaming arrow.

I really, truly, _ honestly _ don’t try to think about my relatives, wherever they are.

“Exactly! Which is why I think it was just a nightmare!”

“So why did it look like Basil then?” Penny is eyeing me over the rim of her glasses, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Agatha hides a giggle. My ears feel hot.

“It looked like Baz?” Agatha turns to her and smiles. “Are you dreaming about him, Simon?” She’s sitting up straighter, her arms folded in front of her on the table. There’s a quirk to her eyebrow and an air about her that screams mischief.

They’re teasing me and it feels bad. I miss him, sure, I’ll admit that, but we are  _ friends _ , no more, no less.

“So what if I am! That tosser isn’t here and I’m feeling a little on edge. I dreamed about  _ you two _ over the summer,” my voice is strained and foreign. “Is there anything wrong with missing people?” There’s a desperateness to my voice that’s hard to hold back. My magic is sparking and the bite in my mouth turns to wet ash.

They must take the hint because Agatha excuses herself to get some food. Penny and I sit in a silence that weighs a tonne.

Penny is the first to say anything, using the tea as an excuse to steamroll over the awkwardness. 

"Simon, be a dear and heat up the tea, it's gone cold again," she says cautiously.

The pot is warm but I know Penny enjoys boiling water with her breakfast. I point my wand at the pot and take a deep breath. 

With exponentially less fanfare than my previous spell, I cast  **Some Like it Hot** . Steam flows from the spout before a long crack snakes along the exterior. Ah, there it is.

**Penny**

Breakfast sans one Mr. Pitch is certainly something I’m not used to (though, I wouldn’t be  _ opposed  _ to a bit more of it). Simon and I parted ways with Agatha soon after, and made our way towards the Cloisters to unpack. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t pull any more information about Simon’s alleged Visit. 

The Veil is incredibly thin around this time, but a full on Visit  _ this _ early is almost unheard of. What--or  _ who _ \--ever tried to contact Simon obviously needed contact to the living. He swears up and down it was all just a dream made of exhaustion, but I don’t fully believe him. Mum said a healthy dose of scepticism is integral to any self-respecting mage.

Simon is placing books on my shelf while I dig through my suitcase for the record player. Unlike the one at breakfast, it’s a comfortable silence, one I’ve gotten used to during our time at Watford. I remember when Simon was so amazed by every little magickal thing, though he’s calmed down since we met. He’s still so into magic,  _ that _ I cannot deny, but I think he understands how normal it is for mages.

My hand finally touches the handle of my Wockoder. I place it on my desk and pop it open.  _ Bella Donna _ is still inside, just as I’d hoped. I slide the needle on and plop down into bed. Simon barely cocks his head up as my bed creaks underneath me. I’ve been away far too long.

We continue unpacking well through the album before Simon makes a comment.

“What are all these books for anyway?” He’s holding a  _ History of Watford _ ; a massive book bound in a slick purple leather and aged half to death.

“My own personal collection,” I say matter-of-factly. “You can’t find most of these anymore, not even in the school’s library.”

He’s thumbing through it, stopping every so often to look at the pictures. I can’t help but feel a twinge of excitement for this. Maybe this is the year I  _ finally _ get Simon into reading for fun! The fluttering of pages stops almost as abruptly as it began and I look up to see what’s got him intrigued. 

“What’s the matter, Simon?” I peer into the book, browsing the pages.

“Who’s this?” he asks, voice a bit shaky.

“That’s the last headmistress. Natasha Grimm-Pitch.” There’s an illustrated banner below her portrait that says as much, but Simon is mostly covering it with his thumb. I scan the image again. Maybe it’s the vintage nature of the book or the unsettling air of the portrait itself. “Why is something wrong?”

“Uh, no, nothing,” He says and shuts the book quickly. 

I shrug it off and continue my unpacking. We discuss our summer break a bit more (mainly how boring it was) before it’s time for lunch. I excuse myself to the loo just as Simon finishes up the bookshelf.

**Simon**

The second I can’t hear Penny’s footsteps, I rush back to the book with Baz’s mum in it. I just stand there, staring at her. There isn’t a doubt in my mind she’s who I saw last night. I feel my stomach sink into my bowels. I can’t write it off as a dream anymore, hell, I don’t think Penny would buy that to begin with.

I try to remember a photocopying spell but nothing comes to me. One deep breath and I tear the page out as cleanly as I can. Had I the time to really focus my magic I might’ve cast something to disguise the leftovers from the tear, but I’m afraid I might turn the whole thing invisible. I decide to just replace the book without any fanfare.

Penny’s back just as I'm stuffing the page into my trouser pocket. Hopefully she just takes it as me resting my hand in there.

“Ready for lunch?” I say as casually as I can, tacking on a (suspiciously) cheery smile.

“Absolutely,” she says. I thank God each day for my love of food.

We fill our plates and head up to my room. The dining hall has a few too many guests for Penny’s liking. I honestly don’t blame her; the lack of sleep and carb-loaded breakfast have begun a migraine I can’t shake away. Penny offered to shrink it for me with magic, but it just leaves me numb and doesn’t get rid of the drowsiness. Normal over-the-counter medicines are much more reliable than magic.

She’s sitting on Baz’s bed and I sit across from her on the floor. Lunch today isn’t as grand as usual, but I won’t complain about a stack of sandwiches and chips. There’s a bowl of soup, but I figure with how Penny’s picking things off of her sandwich, she might care for it more than I might.

“You know what my mum said?” Penny says, using a chip as a pointer. “She said Basil could never be on “ _ our _ ” side, just because he's a Grimm-Pitch. Isn’t that ridiculous!”

I nod along, though I’m not really listening. Roast beef and mozzarella are much more interesting than magical politics.

“I mean, I can kinda get it,” I say without thinking.

Penny is indignant and huffs at me. “ _ Simon Oliver Snow _ ! Basil is our  _ friend _ ! Imagine what he’d say if he heard that!” She throws a chip at me in disgust (jokes on her, I eat it anyway).

“He is, I know that,” I swallow and clear my throat, “but he’s also part of the Old Families, not much can really change that.”

She looks deflated and goes back to her plate. It’s another awkward silence between us. At this point, I’m not that concerned when Penny goes quiet; between the dragon slaying, near-death experiences, and puberty, I’m not surprised Penny has lost some of her steam. Her flame raged like a wildfire when I first met her, all explosions of passion. Now, though, she seems to fizzle out at the first sight of rain.

I look up from my food to see if Penny is open for conversation again, but much to my disappointment, she’s on her mobile, swiping aimlessly. Alright. My mind wanders back to Baz (of bloody  _ course _ it does).

The last time I saw him was the day before class was out; we were practicing some spells together, to maybe engrain them into my head so I wouldn’t be so rusty when school started again. We were packing our things up, using simple little spells to get his decor into suitcases. He looked so graceful just speaking and holding his wand out. It was truly majestic and feels just as lively when I watch him cast. I can almost see him; hair flowing with the spring breeze, wand held delicately in his long fingers, the little curl of his lip when he notices me gawking. How happy I am to be watching him work his magic. 

He’s not here though.

My thoughts are broken by a swallow flying in through the window. Penny leaps out of bed at the sight of it. I shrug her off and take it onto my finger. When I look up again, Baz’s bed is empty and the door to the loo is open no more than a crack.

“A message to Simon Snow from the Mage,” it sings. “Simon Snow has been summoned to the Mage’s office at once!” It hops around on my hand, repeating its message on loop. 

“Please tell him I’m coming,” I say quietly. I pat its head and help it out the window. “You can come out now, Penny.”

Penny pokes her head out of the loo and does a scan of the room. Her eyebrows are knit tightly until she sees me.

“Looks like the Mage wants to see me,” I almost can’t believe myself. The Mage usually waits until school actually starts before he speaks with me (he rarely says anything to me when he drops off my ticket money). 

“Did it say about what?” she’s suspicious to say the least.

“Wanna go and find out?” I can’t keep the smile off my face.

The Mage’s office is bathed in afternoon light, casting everything in a nice warm tone. It would feel inviting if the Mage wasn’t more than a hazy silhouette against the windows.

“Simon,” his greeting is just as cold as usual. “Nice to see you as well, Miss Bunce.”

I give a little nod and Penny does a curtsy (has she ever curtsied before?).

“Hello sir,” I say.

“I expect your summers went well?” his tone hints at curiosity but the straight line of his lips reveals his indifference.

“Yes, sir.” A chill shimmies down my spine and I feel the colour drain from my face.

“Excellent, I’m glad,” his words don’t do much to calm my nerves. Neither does Premal, who’s been standing at attention next to the Mage’s desk.

He was the one to let us in, but hasn’t said a word since. He stares through me and Penny with a blank expression. I used to think he was the perfect magician. I saw him cast powerful attack spells under his breath with so much ease, I swear he just had to  _ think _ his spells to cast them.

“As you might imagine,” the Mage began, “Watford has seen some exciting days with you two around. The work you do protecting the school and the World of Mages is brilliant. However,” his face goes a bit grim and his eyebrows form a deep crease, “I believe you deserve a break.

“Simon, Miss Bunce, you two are spectacular mages--do not misunderstand me--but I believe that your last year at Watford should be spent making memories, not fighting off dark creatures.” He looks over to Premal, holding out a hand so he can speak.

“What he means to say is that my squad will be handling the missions from here on out,” his voice is deep and shakes me from the inside out, though, he radiates a sincerity I can’t find in the Mage. “You two have done more than enough for Watford, and we’ve decided you’re well overdue for a rest.”

I’m slow to digest the words. Could this be the year I finally pass my classes on time? There isn’t much time to ask anything as Penny turns on a heel. I catch the glimpse of a dirty look before she’s storming out of the Mage’s office. I feel my feet carry me as my mind struggles to catch up.

“Let her go, Simon,” the Mage says, and I do. “It’s better now that we’re alone.”

“But, Sir,” I stutter out. He casts  **Stay Put** and my feet are glued to the floor. “Sir, I appreciate your concern, but we’re more than capable of whatever the Humdrum has to throw at us!” I sound desperate, because I am. The excitement of Watford is being able to play my role as a magical knight. 

“Yes, we understand that,” Premal beams, “We’re not trying to take that from you.” For the first time since I stepped in, Premal has approached me. He’s less threatening without his rigid posture and cold stoicism. He stands off to my side, facing the Mage. “It’s not  _ just  _ the Humdrum’s attacks we’re worried about.”

The Mage nods. “Correct. The Old Families are plotting something and it is my duty to find out what their plan is. Premal and his men aren’t just bodyguards, Simon. They’re looking into what’s going on behind those closed doors.”

I trade glances between them, not entirely sure what this has to do with my involvement in protecting Watford. The sentiment must carry on my face because Premal takes another step towards me.

“Simon, this goes beyond hexes and petty squabbles. It’s not just suspicious, it’s an active  _ threat _ to everything Waford stands for. Does that make sense?” Premals’s dark eyes search my face. I suddenly feel small again, like that eleven year old stepping in here for the first time.

“I...I s’ppose so,” I mumble. It must satisfy them as Premal flashes me a bright smile. It’s uncanny how similar it is to Penny’s, just masculine and with a dimple that pushes into his cheek.

“Atta’ boy,” Premal says as he claps a hand on my shoulder.

“I understand this is quite a shock to you, Simon, but please take this as an opportunity to relax. It is your final year, after all.” With that, the Mage tells Premal to escort me out.

My stomach feels heavy, like my lunch has turned to lead. I’m not sure how I should feel. I’m not relieved, but I’m not angry. Just...empty. I consider going back in there, to protest, or at least get an explanation, but I decide to think about this later. When Baz can tell me if it’s a good thing or not. When Penny won’t curse Premal under her breath.

**Author's Note:**

> A very special thanks to Forest-dwelling-troll on tumblr for betaing my shitpost of a chapter. Ily sm~


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